A New Assignment
by Centroides
Summary: Garrison receives his new command and his new men
1. Chapter 1

**A New Assignment **

Chapter 1

"Come in."

Captain Garrison strode into the large office, came to attention and then saluted. He waited while Colonel Duggan, seated behind his desk, eyed him. Garrison had not met him previously but knew of his reputation. Duggan was career Army. Enlisted right out of high school, he had climbed the ranks to the position of Colonel now heading up Special Forces based here in England. Garrison had not requested this posting but after being injured in North Africa, he had been transferred. All he could hope for was an eventual return to his original combat position. If he played his cards right it could still happen.

Colonel Duggan leaned back in his chair and considered the soldier who stood before him. He had read his file and talked to his commanding officer. All showed him to be a good soldier. He should be fast tracked to command but for one thing. He tended to think for himself. He had, on more than one occasion, taken matters into his own hands and acted without orders. The only saving grace was each time things had worked out for the good. That was until the last time when he was injured. Not his fault entirely but he was injured just the same.

Command hoped this new assignment where the officer would have to think on his feet would be a good place for the Captain. Well they would soon find out.

"At ease Captain. Have a seat." He waited until his orders had been carried out. "Welcome back. How're you feeling?"

"Ready for duty, Sir."

"Good. For your next assignment you will start by attending a training session in Canada. You will be there, training for two weeks, then at that time you will take over one of our covert teams to work behind enemy lines."

"Take over? May I ask what happened?"

"If I don't tell you they will." Colonel Duggin was resigned, "The Captain was killed while on leave, in London."

Garrison wondered briefly if it was better to die while serving your country or die at home. At least while you are home the chances of your loved ones having a body to mourn and bury was higher. He swung away from that thought. It was the old superstition that to think about death was to invite it. Craig was not superstitious but why take chance.

"For now you are to report to Lieutenant Fergus' s Office down stairs. He will give you the files on the men you are to lead and a few of their mission reports. Obviously they are not to leave the building so read them there and be ready to leave in just under two hours. A car will pick you up. Any questions?"

"I was hoping to rejoin my unit." said Garrison longingly then seeing the look on the Colonel's face he spoke with military precision. "No questions, Sir." He saluted, waited for the reply then turned smartly and left.

By the time Garrison was on the westward bound plane he thought he knew the three men he was to lead and a bit about what they had done. This was going to work out well.

It did not …. work out well.

At least the training did. His time at "The Farm" had been intense and at times very tiring but very educational. There were code phrases, intelligence jargon, signalling techniques and so much more. The world of espionage was one he had known very little about. Even more fascinating was Captain William Ewart Fairbairn, or "Fearless Dan" who had taught the hand to hand combat part of the course. Not everybody liked him but his style of fighting was incredible.

The part that didn't work was the meeting of the new team.

"Good Morning Garrison."

"Sir."

Never one to beat about the bush he came right to the point. "There has been a change of plans. You will be assigned a new team. It will be your job to train them as best you can in the limited time we have. At that time you will be briefed on your first job.

"First and most important is your confidence man. It is his job to con his way into Nazi camps and headquarters, gain their confidence, assess the situation and act as a diversion as necessary so the others can plant or remove what ever is necessary. Language skills are a must." He tossed a file to the far edge of his desk in front of the younger man. "His nom de Guerre is Actor. Details are inside.

Second, is a safe cracker. There will be many times when we wish to access information that for obvious reasons will be secured. Unfortunately he speaks only English and a bit of gutter Italian." Another file landed on top of the first. "Goes by the name Casino.

Third is a second story man. His job will be to infiltrate guarded buildings and instillations. Once inside he can prepare the way, disabling alarms, for the entrance of the rest of the team. Again no linguistic skills. His name of choice, Goniff." Another files joined the pile.

"Fourth, a car thief. The Navy or Air Force will provide transport to and from the continent but once there you will have to find your own means of transport." The fourth file, thicker than the others landed on the growing pile. "Wheeler."

Garrison reached over and sifted through the pile. Each file had a mug shot clipped to the front.

"Any questions?"

"These are Prison Records?"

"Yes. There's a shortage of trained men, for obvious reasons. Instead of training a few men in all the necessary skills we have chosen men who already have those skills. Unfortunately those skills have landed them in prison. The right incentive and they work for you."

"What's the incentive?"

"Their parole."

Captain Garrison smiled and nodded. That would be an incentive. "Five man team, Sir? Isn't that a bit large?"

"Normally, yes but these men's individual skills are usually limited to one area. " The Colonel watched and waited for a reaction. There was none so he continued. "There will be one additional man.

"These men are on route as we speak and should be arriving tomorrow at the Estate outside of London where you will train them. Being convicts, you will have to get them in shape physically, train them to take orders, and to work as a team. Anyone gives you problems, you have permission to send him back and a replacement will be brought in." He eyed the young man in front of him. From what he had read and heard, the young Captain was the right man for the job though he did not envy him the task ahead. It had not been his idea to use convicts; that came from higher up. His job was to oversee and make sure it got done.

"If there are no more questions, your orders and directions to the Estate are with Lieutenant Disher.

"Thank you Sir." Garrison rose and saluted.

Garrison reviewed the files. He did not have a good feeling about this. As a soldier he knew he faced death on the battlefield but the men behind you had a lot to do with that fate. Could he mould these men into a team that would watch his back? Could he get convicts to work together? Failure to do that ….. Well he didn't want to think about that.

A short drive brought him to the summer house, at least that was what it was called. To him it looked like a mansion. The two story stone building stood six hundred yard back from the road where it was surrounded by an eight foot high stone wall. A guard house and barrier had been set up at the entrance. He realized at least the security would be good when the guard had scrutinized his ID and papers even to matching the face to the ID.

Next he drove around the inside perimeter. The one place where the top foot of the wall had crumbled someone had dug a pit in front so the height was still eight feet. They were taking no chances. Good. Because of the size of the estate, there were two other guard houses strategically placed along the wall. He stopped at each one and familiarized himself with the guards. Satisfied that security would not be a problem, he turned to the house.

Once inside he went on an inspection tour. Being convicts they would be under house arrest as long as they were not on a mission. He had been briefed on the sleeping arrangement so he checked there first. It was a large games room on the second floor. He slowly climbed the stairs as he eyed the portraits hung along the wall. The men all looked severe, the ladies sadly serene. He wondered if that was the style or whether the owners really looked like that.

The room immediately at the top of the stairs would be used by the Sergeant Major, a young British soldier. That way he would hear any goings on in the men's quarters. His job was to keep an eye on the men while they were in residence and to assist with the training. Colonel Banks said he was 'a good man'.

To the right was a short hall that led to the former Games room that would be the men's dormitory. Five cots had been positioned around the room. The windows were barred and a lock had been installed on the outside of the large heavy door. Satisfied, he returned to the hall. To the left of the stairs he could see several more door, probably bedrooms. The door next to the Sergeant Major's room was open so he looked in. It was of moderate size, the pale blue walls reflected the day light that streamed in the large window that looked out over the front lawn. It appeared to be unoccupied. It would do for his room.

Returning to the first floor Captain Garrison went out into the courtyard. The placement of small arms targets near the back wall indicated that this was where some of the training would take place. The gates to the park grounds were locked.

Back inside the house he checked the rest of the rooms that were available. A desk had been placed in a small room facing the front lawn. It was adequate. Further down he found a larger room that overlooked the courtyard. This would be better for his office and general meeting room. With his desk over at one end by the window there would be room for a table for briefings at the other end. This way even when he was working he would still be able to keep an eye on his charges as they worked outside or just relaxed there, though he knew there would be little time to do that. They had a lot of work to do. He would have to get one of the guards to help with the move.

Now while he waited he sat and review the files again. Each one included the personality brief that the Army had requested.

First to arrive was the Sargaent Major. He was young, staunchly British and very military, evident in his ram rod posture and his crisp salute. It was good to have some Military protocol around because he was sure prison convicts would be lacking in that department. He had little time to meet and brief the man when the phone rang. It was the front gate telling him the truck was there with the prisoners. He told him to send it up and minutes later they heard the distinctive growl of a truck.

The two men went out to meet their charges. The truck had stopped, two MP's stood one on either side at the back as a third approached the new residents of the manor. After Garrison signed the form he went over and lowered the tailgate and flipped up the tarp. They had no idea where the fifth man was, but, though they were too good of soldiers to say anything, their body language said they thought he was nuts for going along with hair brained scheme. Garrison hoped his own did not say he agreed. What ever happened he was in it now. He watched as each man exited the vehicle mentally matching up the face with the photo and file details.

The first one to appear was Wheeler, the car thief. His bald head and stocky figure made that obvious. He was grinning a very satisfied grin, like he had the world by the tail when he stood at the back of the truck. He was out of prison. That was all he cared about. He had been told that as long as he did as he was told then he would stay out of that rat hole. From reading his profile Garrison knew he would bear watching. He was a bully but he had handled bullies before. That side would be physical. It would be sad commentary if he had to use his new fighting skills on the men of his own team. This of course brought a dilemma. Should he teach them all that he had learned in that department or save some so he could best them if necessary? Not knowing might cost them their lives if he didn't. He would ponder that later.

Next was his tall, debonair and most importantly, linguistically fluent con man. Though no expert on the subject, he could see where women would find him attractive. Right now he was not looking romantic, it was more of a what do I have here and what can I do with it. Garrison could see the wheels going round already. That was the threat, the man was a master manipulator. His record had included some of the con man's attempts at escape. They sounded so simple yet more than one had almost worked. Garrison would have to be mentally on his toes at all times making sure it was the enemy he was manipulating not him_. _

The safe cracker, Casino, was next in line. His mug shot had shown an angry street hood, here he was as definitely smug. His grin as he walked away from the truck was wide and confident as thought he had the world in the palm of his hand. He would soon learn that Garrison had his freedom in the palm of his hand. The man was the best safecracker behind bars. His solid built and show of confidence could go either way, either with him against the Germans or against him.

Lastly the second story man, Goniff. He was the smallest and slightest one on the team. Physical ability was an important requirement and though the thief appeared underweight he had been assured the man was wiry. Agility was essential to a second story man and thus to his team. Goniff would be easy to dismiss as being harmless but after reading his Parole Hearing Report and the evidence against him it was obvious that the man was slippery.

Garrison informed his 'cons' that he was the boss and that if any one of them had any other ideas they had better get rid of them or they would be back in prison so fast they would make their heads spin. Though they continued to grin he noticed that they weren't quite as broad. Goniff's dimmed noticeably.

The cuffs and leg irons were removed and the Sargent Major led them to their room.

Twenty minutes later as the first four were settling into their new quarters a second vehicle arrived. This was a smaller truck. A civilian climbed down from the cab and sauntered around to the back. He opened the doors and climbed in. Moments later two soldiers emerged and waited for the prisoner with guns at the ready. Garrison's suspicions grew. Who was this man and why the extra precautions?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The man had shuffled to the tail gate and stood blinking in the daylight. He wore leg irons and his wrists were cuffed to a belt around his waist. This was how the other convicts had arrived, but this man had the added security of a chain that linked a heavy leather Guardian collar around his neck to the belt at his waist. It had been shortened so the victim could not stand up straight. Secure Guardian Control.

Garrison was too good of a soldier to react openly but inside he was reeling. A Guardian! What did they expect him to do with a Guardian. They were dangerous. If not handled right they went into a rage and could not be controlled except by a trained handler. How was he supposed to handle a Guardian while on an covert mission behind enemy lines? That was lunacy. What was even worse was the collar was red. He knew brown meant newly trained and black was a working Guardian but the red was a Rogue, the worst kind of Guardian.

The civilian yelled for the man to jump down but when nothing happened he kicked the back of his knees and the man crumpled and toppled to the ground. The civilian hopped down and grabbed the chain next to the collar and hauled him to his feet. For some reason the prisoner seemed a bit unsteady. A slap to his head caused him to stumble.

Garrison watched as the civilian growled at the prisoner and then smiled broadly as he approached. Garrison eyed the man. He was short, maybe about five foot seven, but he was built top heavy. Broad shoulders were well muscled as were his forearms. From the waist up he looked like a weight lifter. Below the waist he was slim.

"Morning Captain. My name is Frank Immelo. I will be this worthless piece of shit's handler for the next week." He jerked a thumb in the prisoners direction. "I'll teach you how to control it and how to make it work. It's not really that hard now that I've taught it the rules. Beside being a Rogue means your options are unlimited." That last part seemed to delight him.

"I was not informed you would be staying," said Garrison coolly. He did not like the way the prisoner had been man-handled. Maybe he had deserved it so Garrison reserved judgement. "I am sure we can find you a room. If you will remove the restraints the Sergeant Major will take him up to the men's quarters."

"Oh that won't be necessary, Captain. It sleeps on the floor in my room until I am satisfied it'll behave. The Control stays." Then he turned to his charge, his tone changing from pleasant to nasty. "And you will behave, won't you, Rogue. You know what'll happens if you don't, don't you?" There was no reaction form the newest addition.

Garrison eyed the Guardian. Physically he looked able, though it was hard to gauge his height and posture with the shortened chain. The biggest problem was the fact he was a Guardian. After his training at The Farm, he knew there was no way this Guardian had a place on his team. All members had to be alert and able to think on their feet. They had to be able to improvise. The man before him seemed vacant. There was no light in his eyes. He looked to be dead.

Looks aside, the Guardian had been assigned so he would see if it could be worked out. He doubted it but right now was not the time to dispute it. That would come later.

Twenty minutes later, Mister Immelo's gear was stowed and the training began. Right from the start it was a failure. Garrison and the Sergeant Major put the men through a series of physical drills to check their level of fitness. After the jumping jacks, knee bends and push ups he took them on a cross country run. With the Sergeant Major in the lead he spent his time moving up and down the line encouraging and shaming the men into keeping up. Actor was fairly fit but lacked stamina, as did Goniff, probably due to their imprisonment. Casino and Wheeler were winded in no time. Mister Immelo had insisted on having a jeep to drive so he could stay with his Guardian. The chain between neck and waist had been lengthened so he could at least take deep breathes. Though the Guardian tried vainly to keep up he was soon falling farther and further behind. Mr Immelo became more and more verbally abusive. When he saw that was not working he picked up a stick and began to hit the exhausted man. He was a dead horse. No amount of pain was going to get him to move any faster. The two finally arrived back in the courtyard a good ten minutes after the others.

The Guardian had dead leaves and smudges of dirt on his pants and shirt. He must have fallen. Now he stood gasping, as the others had when they had arrived back at the courtyard but the Guardian was trembling, and hugging himself. He looked ill. Give him credit, he had finished, but there was no way a man that out of shape, could ever be counted on to protect himself or the others while on a mission. With a bit of effort the others would be fit, even Wheeler, but not this one. His enhanced sensed would be an asset but his lack of physical fitness and the autonomic way he moved made him a liability.

Garrison looked to the Handler. Mr Immelo was grinning at his charge but it was not a pleasant one. He had something evil in mind.

"No relief for you tonight," he said in a voice to match the evil smile, "you're going to have to beg for it."

This was the first reaction from the Guardian that Garrison had seen and it was fear and pain. What ever 'relief' was being referred to was desperately needed by the Guardian. He thought back but there was nothing the team's leader could remember about relief for Guardians. Supposedly Mr. Immelo knew what he was doing. Garrison mentally wrote them off.

Their first meal together was interesting. The large dining hall had been cleared of it's fine table and chairs and military regulation Mess tables had been set in the centre of the room. Benches completed the 'function before comfort' furnishings.

Garrison watched as the Guards escorted the cons, his new team, all freshly washed and dressed after their workout, into the room. Upon entering Actor paused to looked around the room, a look of admiration on his handsome face. Garrison had not really looked at his surrounding. They were suitable. Now he followed the older man's gaze and actually saw the large room's walls and ceiling which were all white but broken up by high relief work on the ceiling. Large oil paintings in ornate gilded frames depicting what were probably the owners ancestors were strategically placed on the walls around the room. Actor's demeanor showed he was quite comfortable in this setting.

Behind him came the smallest of the men, Goniff. He was not in his element like Actor but he was still appraising the room, from his police file, probably looking for objects to steal. Garrison did a quick look, glad the staff had removed all but the large furnishings. Even the dishes and silverware were military issue. Actor moved to one end of the table and selecting a seat facing the room, he sat, looking dignified and completely at home. Goniff sat beside him looking longingly towards the kitchen area.

Casino and Wheeler shuffled in. Not exactly limping but they were obviously feeling the effects of the days workout. Casino gave the room a brief glance then moved to sit across from Actor. Wheeler sneered and muttered something, probably uncomplimentary, as he sat down beside Casino.

Mister Immelo arrived next with his Guardian following behind his right shoulder. He sat next to Goniff. The Guardian paused only briefly when he saw there was no chair to the right of the Handler. He had to remain on his right so he could be backhanded if he was slow to do as he was told. A tug on the chain attached to the collar around his neck dropped him to his knees. His place was on the floor like a dog at his masters feet. Iamello ignored the surroundings but smiled when he saw Garrison.

"Sit down," as he gestured to the place across from him. "We can start on your training now."

Garrison placed his tray on the table across from the Handler and sat. Not the face he wanted to see while he ate but a necessary evil. He had hoped to sit by himself so he could hear what the others had to say. He wanted to know what the trouble makers were up to. He knew Wheeler had had a lot to say during the run but he wanted to know if the others were as disgruntled and if they were thinking of following him. Mutiny was a possibility, one he wanted to be aware of before it erupted.

"He already eat?" Garrison asked as he nodded to the kneeling figure.

"No. After that lousy performance today it doesn't eat. You see you have to reward good behaviour and punish bad behaviour. Allowing him to eat would only reward poor performance."

Garrison took a quick look at the Guardian who knelt, head down, hands in his lap, staring at the floor. He seemed unaffected by the sight and smells of food all around him but Garrison saw the fine tremors run through his arms and saw the jaw clench then relax.

"Guardians are more primitive. Their rewards are like those of a dog. Food, a bed to sleep on, warmth, these are things they understand. The other thing they understand is pain."

"Shouldn't he have something to keep up his strength? In prison, at least they get bread and water."

"Oh, I'll get him some water after. You see, he thought with every one here, new surroundings and all, that he would try and pull a fast one. He slacks off and every one thinks he's weak and they take pity on him. But I know him. You can't let'm get away with it. Punishment has to be fast and hard. And don't worry about hurting him. He's used to pain. That's how you get their attention. Pain is their wake up call.

You see this one was detected at age 16, in prison in Mississippi, doing two years for attempted murder. They took him in for training and he was with them for four months when he turned on his handler, beat him very badly, and escaped. Had to chase him for eight months before they caught him again, this time in New York. He escaped again by killing his handler, and has killed at least four more men over the course of 6 years probably more. He's violent and a runner. That's why he wears the red collar. That means he's a Rogue. That's why you have to keep him drugged and chained. Green indicates a Guardian in training, Brown is for a novice, and black is a fully trained Guardian.

"How much do you know about the Compliance Drugs?" Seeing a negative head shake he continued. " Compliance Level One or CL1 just lowers their resistance, makes them suggestible. Level two, or CL2, is stronger and Level three, removes most independent thought and is addictive. Once they're hooked they'll do anything to get their shot.

As soon as they're identified, they're put on the drugs. Some take only a pill once a day, others require two. Rogues are given a shot once a day. Because you're new at this, you're to give him half in the morning and half at night. That way he'll be hurting and so more willing to obey. If he's slow to obey then threaten to delay his relief. Wait long enough and you'll have him on his knees crawling, begging. It's quite pathetic really. But it means they do as they're told and that's all that matters. I'll show you how to give it.

After we eat I'll take you out and demonstrate how to use the commands and controls." Garrison didn't like the way the man seemed to have no problem with treating another human being like an animal, or worse. In fact he reminded Garrison of the Spanish Inquisition teaching a new inquisitor in the methods of torture and the instrument to be used.

"Sir. Request permission to drop the Guardian from the team."

"Drop him?" The Colonel's voice was hard. He did not like having his orders questioned."

"Yes Sir," added the Captain. " He's a liability. He is so far out of shape, he'll never be ready. He's on compliance drugs that make him dopy. Just the way I have to ground him as he kneels to use his senses could get us all killed."

"Captain Garrison." The commanding officer enunciation of each word revealed his anger. "You have been assigned the Guardian and you **will** take him. With only about 1200 in all the United States of America, you should count yourself lucky to have him. Learn how to use him. He will save lives not take them. That is all. Dismissed."

"But Sir…"

"This is your only warning. Insubordination will cost you." The Colonel's narrowed eyes and clipped tone was warning enough.

Garrison fumed but answered, "Yes Sir." He knew the Colonel was a stickler for military protocol. This was one man he could not push.

As he walked out of Headquarters he continued to fume. Damn Brass. What did they know about Guardians. Someone somewhere had sold the Army on the idea of Guardians protecting troops. Well maybe they worked in some areas but behind enemy lines was not one of them.

Actor awoke from a reoccurring dream where he was caught during a con. He had used this particular con on several occasions and it had never failed in real life. Obviously he feared it would. He rolled over and tried to get back to sleep to no avail. Might as well get up and get a drink of water. He slipped out of bed and grabbing his robe, eased out the door. The water closet was at the end of the hall. As he approached the Handlers room he noticed the light coming from under the closed door. Late training he supposed though it looked like the Guardian needed his sleep more than he needed training. The sound of pleading, a slap and a cry of pain slowed his step.

"Now crawl. You like that don't you, being on your knees?" There was a pause then a slap followed by a gasp of pain. "I said don't you. Answer me."

The reply was too soft for Actor to hear but Iamello's voice continued. "You know, I'm going to miss this. Have to find me another Rogue to train."

"Please," pleaded the Guardian. The victim was crying.

"Please what? Don't worry I'll tell Garrison how you much you like this." The sarcasm was thick.

Actor was shocked. He did not know for sure but he did not like the sounds of what was going on. He desperately wanted to barge in and put a stop to it but he knew he was on shaky ground. Was this normal behaviour with Guardians? Was this a way of controlling them? Did Garrison know about this and did he agree? He did not want to think Garrison would participate in this barbaric behaviour. Suddenly afraid he would be caught in the hall, even though he figured the Handler would be busy for at least a minute or so, he turned and went back to his bed. All thoughts of his own personal night mare were forgotten, replaced by the Guardians nightmare still going on down the hall. He could not get the sound of that 'Please' and the cry of pain that had followed. Actor did not sleep much more that night.

Chief stood at the window, the blank look already receding. He had learned that that look was the best way to avoid being hit. Evidence of independent thinking was not frowned upon, it was detrimental to your health, especially for him, a Rogue. If CL3 couldn't control you then you were dead. He didn't want to die. Not right now at least.

Instead he watched his arch enemy leave. He would have liked to see him leaving in a body bag but at least he was leaving. Now his future was looking better. Hopefully the new Handler would continue to treat him as he had so far. The man obviously had no use for him and seemed to ignore him most of the time but that was far better than how 'I am yellow' had treated him.


End file.
